Silentin
by Aimme
Summary: “Tonight begins the Week of Silentin!” Week of Silentin, lock your doors and hide under your beds, pray that your ancestors did not kill someone that is now seeking revenge. Or else, you may just be in danger.
1. Ramblings of Ghosts

**Summary:** "Tonight begins the Week of Silentin!" Week of Silentin, lock your doors and hide under your beds, pray that your ancestors did not kill someone that is now seeking revenge. Or else, you may just be in danger.  
**Author:** Raina  
**Beta:** Tira (sidhnanledhiel)  
**Rating:** Mature PG-13 (maybe R just to be safe)  
**Warning:** There is a lot of spiritual type content in this. Ghosts, spirits, things like that. This fic is not for the faint of heart, or the easily scared, believe me! I know at the beginning it does not seem that way, but you have not read the rest. :D  
**Characters:** Aragorn and a few OCs  
'silenti' ('silentin' without the 'n') is a Latin word meaning "the Dead"; I figured if Tolkien could use the Latin word 'Silva' meaning "woods, forest" and add a 'n' to it and call the wood-elves the "Silvan Elves" then I could get away with using the Latin word for "the Dead" with a 'n' on the end of it for my story.

**A/N: **I was inspired by a line from a book I read recently, Crime Scene Jerusalem by Alton Gansky, when I read the line a picture formed in my mind and it went from there. I at first had wanted this to be for the Halloween challenge Rhonda posted, but as the story developed, it wandered away from the qualifications Rhonda had for the challenge. Then I thought maybe this would be for Nina's birthday, which I missed anyway, but then I realised maybe this type of story might not be good for her health condition (I have been told by many others that the ending of the first chapter is creeping them out, and that is just the beginning of everything!).

**Silentin**

--

"A simple man believes anything, but a prudent man gives thought to his steps." (Proverbs 14:15)

For even his own brothers did not believe in him. (John 7:5)

"Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me!" (John 8:45)

"Stop doubting and believe." (John 20:27)

--

**Chapter One: Ramblings of Ghosts**

_He who cannot believe the ridiculous will never achieve the impossible. (Paraphrase of Revere Sr. H.S. class of 1970 motto)_

_If you can't believe something is possible, you won't be able to see it, even if it's right under your nose._

Though thoroughly bored, the man that slightly disturbed the biota around him watched his surroundings very keenly. Being bored was no cause for him to be off his guard. And even though he was returning from active duty on the southern reaches of land near the Shire, a land inhabited by a rather small, yet stout, race, he still had an obligation to keep a sharp eye on the happenings of the places he passed through. He could not afford the luxury of being at ease as he travelled back home, but he could enjoy the beauty of nature even as he stayed alert for any passing danger.

With his long strides he was able to cover the ground quickly, but his soles left nary a track on the ground behind, and unless he did not run into other people, there would be none that would know he had passed through. This skill he had finely tuned over the years, thanks to the help of his brothers, was quite a useful one that he was thankful he possessed. He had lost count of the many times it had come in handy.

There was no rush for him to get back to the camp of his fellow rangers - for one thing, they were in good hands under the guidance and wisdom of his second-in-command, who was seeing over their protection. Besides, once he returned from the southern side of the Baranduin, or the Brandywine as most called it, he was to return to his family in the haven of Rivendell for a short season. For many a year he had been away and only rarely would return for very short visits, no more than a fortnight at most, but this time he would stay for a more extended amount of time.

A small smile stole across his face as he thought about it: his home would be changing from fall to winter soon, but, nonetheless, would still be beautiful to behold. Despite that he longed to see his home in the glory of its summer season, he would take what he could get, and be thankful for the mercies of Eru for that point. Besides, his brothers would make winter a grand time, though would probably give him a scolding for staying away for far too long.

He heartily agreed with them. He had been away too long, and his fortnight, or less, visits were far too sparse to make up for his absence.

The more he thought of home, the more he wanted to rush back, but he was already weary from his berth at the Baranduin, and there were still many leagues left before he would even reach the Mitheithel and from there follow it to the Bruinen. He had to pace himself, else he would reach Rivendell too weary to even visit proper with his family without resting for several days first. Not to mention that if he arrived fatigued, his brothers and father would hover over him like mother hens do a chick: something he oft hated. Besides, he wanted to enjoy the open plains of Minhiriath and he relished looking at the flora and fauna of the region.

A small butterfly fluttered past, its delicate, bluish-white wings catching the ranger's attention as they beat the air at a fast, but even pace, its distinct markings a complete blur. The little, pretty insect landed with practiced ease on a small, late bloomer, as the ranger cautiously took a step toward it.

As he took a closer look at the markings - its top wings were white with black marks on the forewing and the underside had grey-green stripes along the hindwing veins - he was able to identify the creature as the Annui Fein: Western White, in the common tongue. And since it had black marks on the forewing, he knew the gender of it was male, for females had the black marks on all their wings.

"How are you today, little annui?" he asked quietly, placing his finger under the little creature, gently letting it take place on his person instead of the plant. He smiled as the butterfly slowly flapped its wings, and turned on his finger. After a second of watching the strange, huge creature it found itself on, the insect took flight, gently sailing away.

_'Time you were moving on, Aragorn,'_ he told himself as he turned back to the east, his direction of travel. Once more he moved on, through the mid-shin-high grasses of the green, hilly-country. Here, though slightly long, the grass grew in such a way that he really did not have to worry about snakes. When it became thicker, maybe, but for now, he could amble through it without a worry for the little terrors.

Soon he reached a region that looked more traversed, no doubt by hunting parties from Tharbad, or farmers making a living outside town. He had never really completely explored Minhiriath, so he was not sure if the signs of human passage were farmers or hunters, but either worked fine in his opinion.

Just so long as they had no evil intent.

As far as he could see there was nothing wrong with the territory: no signs of wrongs being done or evil-doers, but just people coming through here on their way to continue living their regular lives.

But whoever passed through here, did not appear to linger within the vicinity. As far as he knew, the path he travelled, and travelled every time he came back from the Baranduin, located down closer to the Blue Mountains more so than the Shire, like he was travelling this day, was not a path located near civilization; then again, he had never had cause to travel from his path south-eastward and run across the paths of others.

As Aragorn walked, he idly began checking over his weapons, though he knew there was nothing wrong. He still messed with them, loosening his sword in its scabbard, tightening his belt, resettling his bow and quiver more firmly on his back.

He had just pulled his sword from its scabbard to look it over while he walked, when suddenly he heard a loud wailing type scream. A scream of absolute horrified petrifaction. Slamming his sword back where it belonged, Aragorn took off running in the direction the sound came from.

Due to the hills of the region and the clump of trees in the direction he was headed (he was getting into a place with more trees than the plains he had been on before), Aragorn could not at first see what was the cause of distress or who the sound of distress had originated from.

Rounding a bend, Aragorn found himself running down a well-worn path through a thicket. A moment later he saw something else headed toward him, something small and moving quite fast. Mere seconds had passed, and before he could do anything more than to pull up short, the something, or rather someone, ran right into him.

Grabbing the child and steadying the little one, Aragorn looked down into a young boy's tear-stained, scared face. When brown eyes met silver eyes, the boy's fear edged slightly from his face, but the tears came faster.

"Save me, save me..." the boy sobbed on and on. "Don't let them take me or papa and mama."

"Do not let who take you?" Aragorn glanced around, looking for whom the boy spoke of, the 'them' that were allegedly trying to take the boy and his parents.

"Them..." he spoke the word so fearfully and once more that scared look crossed the young boy's face. He looked like he had seen an evil spirit of some kind or another.

Aragorn quickly assessed the boy, judging him to be about eleven years of age, maybe twelve. "Who is this them that you speak of? What is it you have seen that scares you so?" Without knowing what was going on, he really did not know how to help the boy.

"Ghosts," the boy whispered, as if afraid to say the name any louder.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ghosts you say?" Aragorn was not really sure he believed in them, or at least he did not believe that they were as common as his brothers had made them out to be. Many things were possible, and even his father had once told him that they were such things as spirits, both of alive and dead beings, that walked Arda.

The boy nodded his head vigorously, his mop of light brown hair bouncing in time with the up and down of its host. He must have looked doubtful, for the boy quickly interjected. "I saw them! They said they had come to take my family."

"What else did they say?" Despite that he wanted to believe it was a prank pulled by older brothers the boy might have or taunting 'friends', Aragorn could not help but feel slight trepidation at what the boy said; though he did not want to admit it, every word the boy was saying sent chills up his spine.

"They said... They said..." The boy choked back a sob. "He said, 'I have come to avenge my death, four score and ninety years past; from hence, I will extract my revenge upon the descendants of my killers.'"

Aragorn suppressed a shiver at the words, but paused when he realised the boy mentioned a 'he' when before he had said 'they'. "I thought you said there was more than one. Who is this 'he' you speak of, and what happened to 'them'?"

"They are his helpers, my ancestors," he whispered. "They serve him or he serves them... they all work together, either way! They are all seeking revenge!" The boy all but screamed in his insanity, lost to his world of uncontrollable fear and the manifestation of dead spirits waking from and leaving their tombs to haunt the living.

The wind that passed through the trees sounded eerily like someone breathing, someone dead breathing, but Aragorn ignored that. Now was not the time to allow his over-active imagination to get the better of him, as it had the boy. He chided himself for his fear. "Listen, little one, no one is going to harm your family."

"Yes, they are! No one can stop them!"

"Have you talked to your father about this?" It was obvious the child had suffered this for some time, whatever 'this' was. But the boy's parents should have schooled the boy, told him, _convinced_ him that there was no spirits haunting him and his family.

"They don't believe me." The boy dropped to the ground, sobbing like the world had come to an end. "My parents can't see them, can't see when they walk behind them, just waiting for the right time. They are waiting for the right time, then they will kill my parents."

Aragorn frowned at the youth. He honestly had no idea what to do. The boy was very adamant about the fact that there was ghosts skulking about his parents. Maybe it would be best just to gently question the boy, find out everything the boy thought was true.

"Tonight..." the boy whispered. Aragorn paused, and raised an eyebrow. "Tonight is the beginning of the Week of Silentin."

Aragorn frowned; he knew what the boy spoke of, for stories were often exchanged around this time of year. Horror stories of how during the Week of Silentin, people that had died in some form against their wishes, could walk Arda and extract their revenge. They were able to walk about and be seen by the living (if they wished to be seen), they could touch the living and kill them or harm them in whatever fashion their twisted minds saw fit for the revenge of their death.

Every year, the last week of October was a week feared by many children, they feared that ghosts would enter their houses and kill them.

And only the children could see them.

Once one reaches adulthood, they lose their childlike faith in such spiritual things as ghosts and angels. They lose their ability to see into the spiritual plain and thus they never see their 'doom' coming.

Though he would never admit it aloud, and certainly never to his brothers, somewhere deep inside Aragorn still believed that something like that could be possible. But he had never seen anything to that effect, so now he doubted it was true. It was what he told his brothers this time of year, as well. 'I have never seen them; they do not exist. You are just trying to scare me.'

"Do you not understand?!" The boy wailed, jumping to his feet and tugging on Aragorn's coat, pulling the ranger from the river of memories he had lapsed into. "The Week of Silentin! It starts tonight! He said! He said! He will kill us the Week of Silentin! You have to stop him! Please stop him..."

"Alright, alright, be at peace." The ranger laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Be still, young one." This youngster was deranged! It was the only explanation. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He recalled how he had once believed there were monsters in his closet. His ada had told him that if he got bold they would leave. All he had to do was run in there and tell them to leave, tell them he was not afraid of them. His closet-monsters could not survive without Aragorn's fear, and boldness makes them turn tail and run.

Maybe he could just pretend to go and 'stop' this alleged 'them' and the boy would cease this hysteria of dead people stalking him.

"I will hunt out these revenge-seekers that are searching for you and your loved ones' lives and I will see what I can do. Maybe they can be convinced to leave you alone, but you must not be afraid of them from hence forth."

The child raised his gaze and looked confused. "Afraid of them? How can I not be afraid of them? They are terrifying! Beyond terrifying!" He looked about ready to cry again. "How can I?!"

Aragorn forced a smile, but behind the mask he was feeling quite uneasy and disquieted by this boy's aberration. "They do not like it when you get bold, they will flee from your courage." This he was not so sure of, if in a real case of such that confidence would scare unclean spirits away from shading your footsteps. But it could not hurt to tell the lad to be bold, could it?

"Are you sure?" The lad looked far from being convinced. "And what about my parents? He stills plans on killing us all."

"Why do you not take me to your parents and I can talk to them about this?" He hoped the youth would think he was just planning on warning his parents and convincing them that they needed to take action and prepare themselves for this attack from the ghosts. Of course, Aragorn did not really intend to do that. He wanted to talk to the lad's parents about the boy's state of mind, and what they could do to help the child see reality from the creations of his mind.

"Alright..." he sniffed and turned around, heading back the way he came.

"Wait..." Noticing the direction the child was moving in made Aragorn slightly antsy. "Do you live in that direction?" He pointed the way the youth was going.

"Yes." He frowned. "Why else would I be going this way to take you to my parents if they did not live down this path?"

"Why were you running away from your home, then?"

"I wasn't running away from home. I was in the field when the spirits came again, they were chasing me!"

Aragorn executed a short nod and took off down the path, the boy leading the way. For ten minutes they walked in silence, never once leaving the trees or entering this field the child had spoken of. Obviously the lad had run into the woods when the spirits had supposedly started chasing him.

As they rounded another bend, a small log-house came into sight, situated comfortably within the thicket of trees, though not crowded by the growth of nature that one could not freely walk the yard. The yard was spacey and quite well kept, with a small garden that was slowly giving away to the coming winter months next to the house, and clumps of other flowers strewn across the lawn.

It looked serene, and the ranger wondered how when one lived in such a tranquil place, they could have such an abnormal, uncontrolled mind as the boy did.

A small woman was sweeping the porch as the pair approached the home. She looked up as they drew near.

"Darlin' there you are." She spoke with a sweet, accented voice that made the boy smile slightly. "Where have you been? Your chores do not take you this long to do, why did you not return home immediately?"

"I'm sorry, ma... I..." The lad choked up and looked about ready to sob again. "They came again."

His mother frowned in disapproval. "What have I told you? There is no spirits following you around, no one coming this Silentin for revenge, we ain't done a thang wrong. I don't want to hear any more nonsense about ghosts, you've been listenin' to those Tharbad hunter folk too much for ya own good."

Aragorn caught a flash of rebellion, a sign that the youth wanted to argue that point, once more try and convince the adults around him they were all in danger. But instead the boy nodded and muttered a, "Yes, ma."

"Now, who is this you brought with you?" She eyed the weather-worn clothing and hunter look the newcomer had with barely concealed suspicion. She needed no more hunters and other folk from Tharbad hanging around, scaring her boy out of his wits with stories about ghosts and the Week of the Dead. She had never had problems before with her child about this week, they always celebrated it with no problems, but something had changed this year.

"This is... someone I met in the woods. I don't know his name, but he said he would come and talk to you about Silentin."

"You come to tell more stories, then you can just leave. I don't need my boy being scared any more, thank you. And no offence to ye, but it is bad enough already." Her brown eyes were slightly narrowed, but her countenance was still pleasant.

"No, ma'am." Aragorn shook his head. "I have not come to scare your child with talk of ghosts. I am a ranger, Strider you may call me, and I am just here to get to the bottom of whatever is spooking your son." The gentle breeze picked up for a moment, blowing the woman's dull red hair around her face. Aragorn tried to ignore the sudden pickup of the wind as the woman fixed her hair again from the unsettling the breeze had caused.

"Well, Strider, I am afraid there is nothing that is spooking the child other than his imagination. I'm sorry if my son caused you trouble or waylaid you too much," a man's voice came from behind them. Turning, the ranger saw the voice's owner walking toward them, a shovel slung over his shoulder as he returned for the mid-day meal, the field no doubt giving him quite an appetite.

"No, sir. He did not cause me trouble; it is part of my job to investigate such things. If someone comes to harm and I could have done something to prevent those events, I would be to blame. Since I was in the area and came across your son in quite a state, I deemed it best to talk with his parents."

"You been talkin' to the ranger about ghosts stalking you, son?" The man turned to his offspring.

"Yes, papa... they were chasing me, and Strider said he would stop them!"

"Go on inside," the father ordered. "I'll talk to Strider about this stopping those ghosts business." As soon as the boy had ducked into the house, he turned back to the stranger. "Said you would stop those ghosts that aren't there, did ya?"

"Sir, I said I would see what was going on and find out what I could do to help. Sometimes one must play along with a child's imagination, and in this case, make the spirits leave this place, so that in the end the boy will be convinced that the ghosts have left; even if all the while they were just a product of his imagination."

"Well said," the man extended a hand. "I am Adin."

"Pleased to meet you, Adin, as you already know my name is Strider." He took the offered hand and shook it firmly, noting the man's strong and certain grip.

Adin smiled. "Quite right." Stepping around Aragorn, he introduced the woman. "This is my wife, Trish."

"It is nice to make your acquaintance, Lady Trish." Minding his manners, Aragorn bowed slightly to the lady.

"Pleased to meet you as well, mister Strider," she replied.

"Pleasure's entirely mine, ma'am."

"May I ask where you were raised? You have such nice manners, even though we be simple country folk."

"Ma'am, where I was raised, it does not really matter where you live, a lady is always treated with respect. If the person, or people, are worthy of respect, then respect is due them. Even simple people such as yourselves are worthy of respect and I gladly give it," he paused and then added with amusement written across his features, "Besides, my brothers would tan my hide if they knew I did not treat you as I should."

Trish smiled. "They sound like good brothers then."

"Quite right, you are, there, ma'am. Though they can really be a pain, especially if I do not return home in a time that they see as fit, or if I arrive injured, or generally do something they do not approve of as safe for my health."

Adin laughed. "They sound like my older brothers, then. They always hovered over me, protecting me and looking out for me, even though I despised it."

Aragorn joined him in his laughter. "Oh, that is my brothers alright."

"Well, let's not stand outside and let the lunch hour pass. Adin, go wash up. Strider, won't you join us for the meal?" invited Trish warmly.

"I do not wish to intrude."

"Nonsense,"- Adin clapped him on the back, -"it is the least we could do, considering our son upset your day. You said you wanted to talk about this subject, I assume you have questions?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, just call me Adin."

Aragorn nodded.

"Come along out back, I presume you would like to wash first...?"

"There was a time when I would care less about washing before meals," Strider admitted. "But my brothers and father beat that into me as well. Till I washed, no food was placed on my plate, either."

The booming laughter that followed the statement made Aragorn grin as he followed his host around back and to the well there.

Once washed, the two entered the house through the back door and Adin led the ranger into the kitchen where they took their meals.

"Sorry, I did not prepare the proper dining room for this meal. We usually eat in here; the dining room is for special occasions." Trish tried to excuse their lack of a 'proper' eating space.

Aragorn waved a hand, not at all minding the simple way they took their meals. It was quite nice actually. It was not at all like the meals he had in Rivendell with his family in the dining hall, and it was better than meals taken while sitting around a fire on the ground. He rather enjoyed this in-between setting.

As Trish set out the steaming food, Adin introduced his children.

"My son, as you have already met."

"He never gave me his name."

"Is that so?" Adin looked surprised.

"Sorry, papa, I forgot." The youth jumped to his feet and ran over to Aragorn. Holding out his hand he said, "Nice to meet you, Strider; my name is Daryn."

"It is nice to meet you, Daryn." He shook the small hand and smiled warmly. The child's ramblings gave him the spooks, but he tried to ignore all that for now.

"He is our precious present." Trish smiled fondly at the boy as he took his seat back at the table. Turning to the little girl of about two years of age, Trish stroked her curly, red hair. "And this is Aideen."

Aragorn grinned, looking at the young girl's flaming red hair and crystalline blue eyes - an interesting combination. She had her father's eyes and her mother's hair. She would be quite a beauty when she grew.

"As you have probably guessed, she was named for the colour of her hair." Adin waved to a seat at the table. "Do sit, and enjoy the food. Trish is quite a cook."

"Nonsense,"- she shook her head, -"you don't know good cooking from bad cooking, just so long as it is food."

Strider laughed at the banter, taking a seat at the table opposite the babe; this seat meant sitting beside Daryn, whom he still suspected to be slightly deranged, but he ignored the fact.

The meal was a pleasant one; the talk of light matters. They spoke of the goings on of their fellow farmers and what news they had heard from Tharbad recently. Never once did they broach the subject of ghosts. Instead they discussed why Aragorn was crossing the Minhiriath and from where he hailed.

"I come from the Rhudaur, near the valley of Rivendell."

"Are you acquainted with the elves?" asked Adin, intrigued.

Strider laughed, tucking his nervousness away in a corner of his mind. How did these people view elves? Oh well, nothing to it, but to be honest. "Actually, a bit more than just acquainted, I know quite a few of the elves from the valley real well." He decided as long as they did not ask, he did not have to mention that his brothers were, in fact, elves, and that his best friend was from the woodland realm.

"You're a very fortunate man, Strider, do you know that? Imagine that, Trish! Elves!"

Aragorn laughed at Adin's outburst. "Yes, I guess you could say I am fortunate."

The talk simmered down, and the meal quickly passed. Wiping his mouth on his napkin, Adin looked at the ranger.

"I am afraid, Strider, that I must go back out to the field. Harvest is not quite over, and that is where I have been. Since I did not come back expecting to meet you here, I left tools out in the field. I need to get them in and then we can talk… if you do not mind the wait?"

"Of course not."

"Good and thank you for understanding."

"It's not a problem, really."

After Adin left, Trish set about cleaning up the remains of the meal, and getting Aideen cleaned from her own rather messy meal. With nothing else to do, Aragorn stepped outside onto the porch for a smoke.

After a few minutes, the door behind him opened and someone walked up beside him.

"You gonna talk to my pa about the ghosts?" Daryn asked quietly.

Aragorn took a deep breath and looked up at the boy. "Yes."

"Thank you, Strider." The youth sat down. "Maybe you can convince them that they are in danger..."

He stifled a sigh at the child's statement; he was not here to convince the lad's parents that there were ghosts skulking around them, lying in wait to kill them. From what he could see, the home was serene and there was no sign of spirits hanging around. Daryn was either messed up in the head or there were neighbouring boys playing tricks on him, for the lad was rooted firmly in the belief that he was haunted.

Trish came out of the house then, halting any possible conversation. "Daryn, why don't you run along now and go visit the Hannen's, take them the nutbread I made today and the basket I had you prepare earlier?"

"Yes, ma'am." The youngster ran into the house; he ran back out a few minutes later with a basket in his hand and left down the lane him and Strider had traversed beforehand.

Trish soughed as she watched her son run off. "He didn't used to be like this... talking of ghosts and such." She took a seat in one of the porch chairs.

Aragorn silently got up off the steps and took a seat near her as she spoke. "He is quite a bright young lad, and his father and me were always proud of him. He was quick to obey and please, minding his manners and looking out for his younger sister when she was born." Trish let out another sigh. "Now... now, all he talks about is spirits. He is jumpy and terrified, and..." she paused and shook her head. "Ever since Adin took him to the sepulchre... where Adin's forefathers are buried," she added to make it clearer. "Adin took the lad there so that he knew where the place was, to remember to lay him there to rest when he died. Not more than two days later Daryn was going on about ghosts and every day after. That was two weeks ago."

A deep frown contorted Aragorn's face as he stared at the ground and let the information just sink in. Several moments passed before he heard someone approaching. He looked up expecting to see Adin and saw...

Nothing.

Aragorn frowned. He knew he had heard someone coming this way, but there was not a person in sight, except for Trish who was sitting next to him.

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to all of the information she had given him, and everything he could remember Daryn saying and doing.

Then he heard it. He knew it was the sound of someone coming. He knew it for certain this time.

He looked up.

No one was there.

Ai, everything he had been thinking about, ghosts and tombs and Daryn's claims of the spirits of dead people walking the earth, was really starting to get to him. He was hearing things. It was his mind playing tricks on him because of the nature of the subject he had been dwelling upon.

Once more he heard someone walking, and looking up Aragorn once more saw no one.

_'Stop it!'_ he silently chided himself. He glanced at Trish. She was idly staring off into space, unconcerned. _'There is no one there, no one is walking around. You are imagining things!'_

Step. Step. Step.

No one.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _'Stop freaking out about this. You are hearing things! No one is there while there is the sound because it is all just your mind! Snap out of it!'_

Step. Swish. Step.

The sound had changed as if someone was walking through flowers and long grass, but Aragorn ignored it. He looked once more to Trish, who had produced some sewing from somewhere and was working, completely unfazed.

Swish. Step. Swish.

Step. Swish. Step.

Swish. Step. Swish.

Aragorn finally looked up again, and once more saw no one. When he was about to get up and go into the house, he saw something that set his heart beating at a fast pace.

Step. Swish. Step.

A clump of flowers about fifty yards away, it was moving. It was moving as if someone was walking through its midst. But no one was there. No trees were near it, so no one could be hiding in the shadows. It was in the light, no shadows over it, nothing.

The wind was only a slight breeze.

The flowers continued to part.

Not a soul was in sight.

--

**...To Be Continued...**

--

**Translations:**

annui: western

fein: white

More coming soon! I will post the next part on Halloween. Look for it coming!!

Well, that is, I might decide to hold off posting more if I don't get reviews! XD Come on, though, I need feedback! It encourages me to write more!


	2. Trapped

**Summary:** "Tonight begins the Week of Silentin!" Week of Silentin, lock your doors and hide under your beds, pray that your ancestors did not kill someone that is now seeking revenge. Or else, you may just be in danger.  
**Author:** Raina  
**Beta:** Tira (sidhnanledhiel)  
**Rating:** Mature PG-13 (maybe R just to be safe)  
**Warning:** There is a lot of spiritual type content in this. Ghosts, spirits, things like that. This fic is not for the faint of heart, or the easily scared, believe me! I know at the beginning it does not seem that way, but you have not read the rest. :D  
**Characters:** Aragorn and a few OCs

**Author's Story's Note:** I was inspired by a line from a book I read recently, Crime Scene Jerusalem by Alton Gansky, when I read the line a picture formed in my mind and it went from there. I at first had wanted this to be for the Halloween challenge Rhonda posted, but as the story developed, it wandered away from the qualifications Rhonda had for the challenge. Then I thought maybe this would be for Nina's birthday, which I missed anyway, but then I realised maybe this type of story might not be good for her health condition (I have been told by many others that the ending of the first chapter is creeping them out, and that is just the beginning of everything!).

**Author's Chapter's Note 2:** I know when I posted the first chapter I had said one of two chapters. That changed when I took a look at the second chapter and realised it was twice if not three times longer than the first, so I decided to split it up. Mods, I hope this was alright, and readers, please don't tear me to shreds because I left you to wait for another chapter to be posted. A torn-to-shreds writer does not post her work (how can she when her body is no longer in one piece? g), or reveal her secrets. :D

I am sorry this is a day late! I have been dreadfully busy, and when I promised that I would post on Halloween, I had not realised I would be gone all day! It was an exhausting day, and having not slept well for two nights already, as soon as I got home last night I went right to bed, and have rested most of the day today, waiting for my siblings to let me on the computer.

Well, there you have it, all of my excuses. Enjoy more talk of ghosts, but don't blame me for anything that might go wrong with you mentally or if your family starts giving you weird looks because you speak of ghosts or creepy feelings crawling up your spine. You have been warned!

**Silentin**

--

"Everything is possible for him who believes."  
Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" (Mark 9: 23-24)

"To have faith is to believe what you can't see and the reward of faith is to see what you believe." St. Augustine

--

**Chapter Two: Trapped**

_Seeing isn't believing, believing is seeing._

_Brought low, you will speak from the ground; your speech will mumble out of the dust. Your voice will come ghostlike from the earth; out of the dust your speech will whisper. (Isaiah 29:4)_

'_... there seemed an endless whisper of voices all about him, a murmur of words in no tongue that he had ever heard before.' (The Return of the King: The Passing of the Grey Company; J.R.R Tolkien)_

He closed his eyes and waited for a few moments. When he opened his eyes again, the wind began to pick up and the flowers began to sway, erasing the signs of passage from their midst. As he watched this all play out, a mist he had not noticed before seemed to be blown away by the wind.

Raising a hand, Aragorn rubbed his eyes and looked again. Nothing. He listened closely. No footsteps could be heard.

Without realising it, he nodded to himself and sat back down. It was just his eyes playing tricks on him, his ears taking on a mind of their own and fooling him into thinking there was something out there.

Trish continued to sew, unaware that anything had been out of the ordinary for the ranger.

For long moments Aragorn just sat, trying to dispel the fears he had felt when he saw the flowers move. He lapsed into silence and thought as the minutes drew on. Trish did not bother him, just continued to calmly sew the quilt she had gotten out.

The sounds of footsteps once more brought Strider from his thoughts. For a split-second his heart rate sped up once more, but then the strains of a song drifted to him.

"Oh, friendly farmer,  
Wake up with the Sun,  
For it is early morning  
And the chores must be done..."

Aragorn's shoulders sagged in unknown relief as he recognised Adin's voice.

"Oh, friendly farmer,  
The cow's in need of a milkin'  
The field needs to be plowed  
Did you feed the hungry little hens?  
Don't forget to put the pigs in the pen..."

As her husband came home for the day, Trish began to put her sewing away.

"Oh, friendly farmer,  
Corn's ripe, it needs pickin'  
Pay attention to your workin'  
But make sure to wave friendly hellos  
To the neighbours that are taking strolls..."

A small smile slipped across Aragorn's voice as Adin came into view. The song was a ridiculous one, written for a bit of fun, and yet sung by farmers everywhere. Strider had heard it many a time.

"But when the work is finished,  
And the evening sky is red  
This friendly little farmer  
Shall tumble into bed!"

Adin grinned at the ranger on the porch as he finished his song. "Hello, there, Strider!" he hollered. "I trust I didn't keep you too long?" Adin was the picture of politeness, despite that he knew they would have to be talking about his son's absurd ramblings.

"Not at all." Keeping with proper decorum, Aragorn told him such, but inside he felt differently. The man could not have come sooner, but the events of the last fifteen minutes made him wish that the farmer had come more promptly.

"Come, how's 'bout some tea?" asked Trish, smiling sweetly as her husband mounted the steps.

"That would be nice, thank you," Aragorn replied. Tea sounded rather good at the moment. Drinking a cup of tea would help calm his nerves, which were on edge even though he had reasoned out that that the whole flowers thing had been the wind.

They moved once more into the kitchen and the two men sat at the table while Trish set about boiling some tea.

"Now, about your son..." Aragorn started, unsure where to begin. "Your wife tells me you took him to your family sepulchre and that from then on he was acting strangely?" He turned the statement into a question, wanting affirmation that what he was saying was correct.

Adin distributed a small, firm nod. "I took him there so he would know where it was at. I figured he needed to know, in case something ever happened, may the powers above forbid that, though. I also took him there as a part of his schooling; letting him know what is done to bury those passed on."

Aragorn dipped his head to let the farmer know he was listening as he received a cup of steaming tea from Trish. Its sweet smell wafted up to him, carrying the scent of the peppermint plant.

"He began to act uncomfortable, and asking me if we could leave, stating that he did not like it there, it was 'creepy.'" The father let out a mournful sigh and took the cup his wife offered him. "He acted jittery on the way home and several days after, and then suddenly one morning he started going on about revengeful spirits lurking around our house, waiting for Silentin to arrive so that they could extract their vengeance upon us."

"Could there just have been something there that he saw and mistook for a spirit, and with stories of Silentin being spoken of, he assumed it was an evil spirit after all of your lives?"

"Hmmm..." The other young man looked thoughtful, taking several sips of his tea before saying more. "I had not thought of that before, but it may be as you say. And honestly, Strider, I hope it is that way."

At first Strider thought the man might have believed in the stories of Silentin as well, and believed his son to a certain degree when he said they were in danger.

But then, Trish spoke, saying: "It would be quite difficult to think and accept that our son, our own precious gift, may have lost his mind."

Understanding dawned on Aragorn.

"Well, maybe we should take the lad back to the sepulchre, try and get to the bottom of this." Aragorn suggested hesitantly, not sure how the two would take it.

"At this time, Strider, I will do just about anything to get my son back to normal." The dejected father let out another sad sigh and rubbed his eyes with his hands, fighting off tiredness.

Soft crying pierced the kitchen and Trish stood and crossed the room. "Shh... Don't cry, Aideen," she cooed as she pulled the babe from her cradle. Turning she placed the two year old onto her hip and joined them back at the table, though she did not sit.

So that was where the baby got gotten off to, Aragorn mused quietly.

Providence was on their side, for just then the door opened and Daryn stepped in. Trish gave the boy a searching look.

"Child, I thought I sent you to the Hannen's." It was not a question, it was statement, and Daryn dropped his eyes, finding the floor a much more interesting sight than his mother.

"You did, but they were preparing for the celebration of Silentin. I didn't want to intrude!" he offered quickly.

Trish turned to Adin and Strider. "Why don't you get off now and get ya business out of the way. I will be getting ready to go to the Hannen's for the bonfire."

Adin nodded. "Come on, son, we have things we have to do."

"Like what, sir?" Daryn asked quietly, glancing between the three adults. "Don't I need to get ready for the bonfire?" It was said grudgingly like he didn't want to go, but he asked because he was curious as to why he wasn't to get ready for it, since they went every year.

"You don't need to, you are going with Strider and myself to the sepulchre, we have some things we have to do," he repeated himself.

Fear entered Daryn's eyes as he looked to Strider, then back to his father. "Things?"

"Yes, now no more questions. Put the basket up and come along now."

-0-0-0-0-

"Is this the place?" Aragorn looked it over. A well-sized hill was directly in front of them, a large stone rested against it.

"Yes, this is my family's sepulchre."

Aragorn approached cautiously, looking the place over well. _'There's no sign that anyone has been here recently, at least not since Daryn and Adin were a fortnight ago,'_ he mused as he looked the stone over; it was a big one - one that would take at least two strong men, if not more, to move it.

Adin moved near, speaking quietly so as to not be overheard by Daryn, who was busy staring at the hill and the immediate area around it with fear. "I showed him the inside of the tomb, but we did not go in, for he started to cause a ruckus about it when I tried to take him in."

Something at the edge of his peripheral vision grabbed his attention, and Aragorn looked down at the insect. A small butterfly had landed on the herbs that grew near the hill and stone; he immediately recognised it as Annún Chwest Aenilravan, a particularly ugly type of butterfly. In the common tongue it was called Zephyr - a breeze from the west - Angelwing, but some gave it the name 'spiritwing'. They inhabited the western regions, and some called them 'spiritwing' instead of 'angelwing' for the very reason that they were more commonly seen during the month of October, particularly around the Week of the Dead.

As he looked at the small creature beside him and the several others still fluttering around, Aragorn's mind decided not only did they look ugly, they looked something more like rotting flesh, with the tips of their wings being orange with dark brown spots and dark brown, irregular outer wing margins. The underside was a mottled grey that made him think of dead people and the outer half was lighter with vague yellowish spots. The hindwing had a silver comma.

As the insect slowly opened and closed its wings, it looked nothing short of a rotting corpse, his mind whispered.

"Are you alright, Strider?" Adin touched his arm.

"Huh? Oh, yes!" He pointed to the butterfly. "Not a very pretty insect, is it?" He forced a smile, all the while berating himself. _'What an imaginative way to think of them, Aragorn!'_ he thought sarcastically. _'Snap out of it, will you?'_

"Oh, yes... they are quite an ugly family of the butterfly species." Adin smiled.

Aragorn turned his mind back to his task, taking a look over his shoulder at Daryn. "Do you mind if I take the lad inside, maybe he could point out what he saw?"

"Daryn," Adin called to his son, who turned a barely concealed fearful look to his father. "You will go with Strider and show him whatever it is that you saw two weeks ago that you think is or was a spirit."

"It is a ghost, father!" the boy insisted as he slowly walked toward them.

"It was not a ghost, you saw some sort of apparition, most likely the rock structure, inside of there and your imagination has done the rest."

Strider glanced between father and son, noticing uncertainty from Adin over his son's problem and fear from Daryn's adamant belief that they were all in fatal danger. He had noted a flash of something he could not give a name to inside of Adin's eyes when he spoke to his son of all this - it seemed Adin held a fear that what Daryn was saying was true, but at the same time he was trying to reason it all away with 'adult reason' and explain that it was all some sort of miss-sight on the boy's part.

Daryn looked uncertain, but Adin gave him a hard look and commanded him firmly, "You will do this."

The lad dropped his gaze. "Yes, father."

"Good. Now, Strider, last time I was here, I had a few friends with us to help me move the boulder, since it is too big for any one man to move. Do you think you could help me here...?"

"Certainly." It took a lot of effort, but finally, with the help of Daryn, the two men managed to roll the stone away a few feet along its runner so that the wooden tomb door was revealed.

Placing his hand to the door, Aragorn paused, and glanced up at a something he thought he had seen - a wisp of smoke or something. But nothing was there when he looked that way. The hill seemed to pulse faintly with a bluish-white light, but when he blinked it disappeared.

_'You are seeing things, Aragorn.'_ He shook off the creepy feeling crawling up his spine. _'With the cloud overhang, and the sun making her course downward, and your light is not as good, you are seeing things! The light is playing tricks.'_ He had only just then realized the clouds that had rolled in out of nowhere, and he could not help but wonder at that. The sky had been clear as far as the eye could see earlier, but now it was shadowed over by the misty gathering.

Aragorn turned his attention back to the door and pushed, but found he had to pull it. He proceeded and the Redwood door swung open with only a little resistance, revealing a dark room. From the light coming through the doorway, Aragorn could see there was another doorway at the other side of the room, leading into the chamber where they actually laid the dead to rest after they had prepared the bodies. There would be a small ledge where the body would be laid for a time and then two or three ossuaries for use at a later date for the bodies to be rested till they decayed completely and then with more passage of time other bodies would be on top of that.

He knew all this because he had been in a few over the years and he had helped bury a number of people; some of them, though, did not have the fortune to be laid to rest in a family sepulchre. He had lived long enough to learn how the laying to rest of the dead was done in these types of tombs.

"We will need the torch." Strider glanced at Adin.

"I knew we would." Adin cast the ranger a wry look before striking the flint and lighting the torch they had brought with them for this very purpose.

Once the torch was lit, Aragorn turned back to the tomb and led Daryn inside. Adin was about to follow, but a noise behind him grabbed his attention. Turning, he glanced around the area, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Something was there, though, he could hear it. He took a step back the direction they had come. Still, he could not see anything there that might be causing the noise. He took another step.

Behind him, unaware of his departure, Aragorn and Daryn crossed the threshold into the tomb. The ranger glanced around the chamber, trying to shake off the chills racing up his spine. He was a very reasonable person, but there was something eerie about being in a burial chamber. Glancing at Daryn, Strider noted that the boy wore a blank expression, his eyes at the moment saying worlds more than his face was.

Raising the torch, the man looked around at the bleak, creepy place. Aragorn reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder to guide him towards the back room, but stopped when his gaze landed on several apparitions on the ground. No, not an apparition, the evidence of boot tread. Someone had been walking in here.

But, Adin had said they had not gone in here two weeks ago. Aragorn's brow furrowed. Besides, these were fresher; someone had tread this area recently, more recent then a fortnight beforehand.

Suddenly, Daryn screamed and spun around, making a mad dash for the door.

Behind the boy, a wispy looking shadow appeared. Aragorn's eyes widened when he saw it, but he had no chance to move before the ground beneath him jerked. He stumbled forward; it felt like someone had pulled a rug out from under his feet. The ground swayed another direction, sending Aragorn lurching backwards. While trying and failing to catch his footing, he heard the door slam and Daryn make naught another noise.

The sharp movements from the earthquake sent Aragorn stumbling towards the wall. And as he fell toward it, the earth shook again, bringing the wall into intense connection with his head. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of the stone outside rolling into place in front of the door.

-0-0-0-0-

Thirty feet away Adin had finally reached the point where the noise had originated from, and he looked the ground over carefully. Nothing. He knew the noise had come from right here, for it grew louder as he approached, but he could not see anything!

"Hila-" he heard the beginning of an incomprehensible whisper, but the noise that echoed from the tomb behind him drowned out the lower verbalism.

It was the sound of his son screaming out his terror. Spinning around, Adin's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest it was beating so hard. His feet had taken a mind of their own and he was running towards the tomb, trying to reach the two inside. He glimpsed his son running toward him, but the ground held trickery and moved of its own accord, causing him to falter, his momentum carrying him to the ground with a crash; the shifting of the earth making the impact harder, leaving him unconscious.

-0-0-0-0-

Slowly, Aragorn returned to the land of wakefulness. He found it to be entirely unpleasant. Sitting up, the ranger regretted it as it sent his head spinning. Taking several deep breaths, he waited till his head stopped its gyrating and then he carefully looked around the enclosure.

The torch lay several feet away, where it had slipped from his grasp when the earth began to move; its flame was still burning, casting out a weak light around the chamber. However, the light could not penetrate the gloominess. By its glow, Aragorn could see that the door was shut and Daryn lay in front of it, oblivious to the world.

Aragorn took another look around. He noted the air in the room had a wispy aspect to it - a sort of cloud that the light could not infiltrate. The air seemed to have turned to a deep chill. Aragorn shivered.

Since Aragorn had awoken, Daryn had not moved. The ranger took a deep breath and inched towards the boy, fighting off dizziness. After crawling across several feet towards the door, Aragorn stopped and put a hand to his head, gently feeling out the injured area. His head was bleeding. He probed the cut with his fingers, wincing at the touch. He reached up and checked his ears and nose for any fluid seepage, but there was none and he thanked Eru for that mercy.

Judging from the headache he was developing and the dizziness whenever he moved, Aragorn deduced that he must have a slight concussion. It could not be too serious of a concussion, since he had woken up, he had not started to vomit, and no fluid was leaking from his nose and ears.

Once the world halted its fast-paced spinning, Strider got back to his knees and crawled to the senseless youth. When he reached the lad, he stilled all his movements and breathed rhythmically as he once more fought the vertigo that assaulted him.

It seemed the world just did not want to stop its revolving completely, as everything still seemed to sway slightly around him; the ranger ignored this problem, turning his attention instead to the oblivious child before him.

Strider quickly assessed the boy and the reason why Daryn had not awoken yet. Expertly, Aragorn fingered the lad's head, searching for the cause. A raised contusion was on Daryn's forward, and from the weak light, Aragorn could see a black hue quickly colouring the boy's skin. On the skin around the bruise, he could see dark flecks and when he brushed his fingers against them, Aragorn discovered that the lad had many tiny splinters in the skin around and on the contusion.

Gently he lifted the youth's head and checked his occiput for any swollen areas. Sure enough, he found a nice sized bruise forming on the back of Daryn's head, more than likely acquired when the boy fell backwards from running into the door, which swung closed to meet him.

Aragorn shook his head at that thought. The door was not alive, it could not have swung of its own accord to 'meet' the lad's headlong rush.

Concerned over the fact that Daryn had yet to wake or even move, Aragorn gently shook the boy, trying to arouse him. He garnered no response from Adin's son, and Strider began to get worried.

Without proper light and supplies, there was nothing more he could do for the lad. Turning, Aragorn pulled himself toward the door, trying to take it easy and not over-exert himself. He hoped by moving slowly he could also keep his dizziness from taking on a harsher tone.

Once he reached the traitorous slab of wood, Aragorn shakily stood, and pushed against it, expecting it to swing open. The door did not budge.

Then he remembered what he had heard before losing consciousness.

The stone had rolled in front of the door.

He sank to the floor in despair, his hands resting against the wood. Aragorn did not want to be here any longer. It was eerie in this tomb, and with the door shut and not moving, he felt panic starting to rise.

Who did this?

It could not have been Adin. He barely knew the man, but he doubted the man would seal his own son into a tomb; he was more caring of a father than that!

Aragorn dropped his hands to his lap, trying to figure things out through his confused mind. Adin had been the only one with them, right? The ranger certainly had not sensed any other humans nearby.

As his hands fell from the wood, though, something on it caught his attention. Aragorn hesitantly raised his hands and felt the door. What he found set his heart thudding.

Set in the wood were indentions, as if something had been pressed and drug down across the door. The indentures were shallow, and his fingers fit comfortably into them. Aragorn let his fingers trace the marks, somehow knowing just what had happened.

Someone had clawed at the door.

This was a tomb, no one should be in here. Aragorn listened and reached out with his senses, trying to see if there was any one else in there.

No one.

They were alone. Yet the door had markings on it.

An image rose unbidden in his mind, and Aragorn twisted around, causing his head to spin. Resituating his legs beneath him correctly, Strider leaned against the door, waiting for his head to stop revolving.

His heart continued to beat hard in his chest as he looked around the sepulchre. After a moment, another creepy thought came to him, and Aragorn nearly jumped away from the door, his head protesting the sharp movements.

Strider shivered, trying to shake off the feeling that had settled in his stomach. At the moment, though, despite how reasonable he wanted and tried to be, he was not going back near that door.

Instead he turned, and went towards the torch, wanting the light to be closer to him.

In spite of his head, which spun faster the more he moved, something told him to hurry. Aragorn all but ran for the torch. His hand had wrapped around the handle just as a blast of chilly and violent wind blew through the tomb. In the twinkling of an eye, the flame was gone.

In terror and repugnance, the ranger dropped the instantly useless object.

The room was utterly dark and fear edged at the man's mind. Aragorn looked around, trying to distinguish one thing from another, but it was useless: his eyes just could not penetrate such darkness; at least not until they adjusted. Slowly Strider dropped to his knees, and crawled back towards the wall, a hand outstretched, seeking out Daryn's form.

As soon as his hand connected with the youth's clothing and the lad's body-heat warmed the ranger's hand, Aragorn sat down and tried to face the room, but something here filled him with a deep fear. He could not bring himself to do so. Regardless of how much he wanted to deny it, being inside this sepulchre on the edge of the Week of Silentin, and after finding the scratch marks on the door, Aragorn felt mortally afraid and had a sudden wish that his ada was there.

Suddenly, bone-chilling laughter filled the chamber. The sound faded in and out of his hearing, but there was another noise that he heard.

Whispers in unknown tongues rushed towards him.

"Hilathine... gastrock, minthen... highinlen..." the whispers breezed by him, slipping past his ears and fading behind him.

Aragorn's jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Once more the image of a young person clawing at the door trying to escape rose in his mind.

His eyes snapped open. He pulled himself closer to Daryn and felt for the boy's face, the shallow breathing against his hand he hoped would remind him of life and light.

"Lithaline... lighcatoon..." the whispers turned into shrieks that rushed past him.

Aragorn wrinkled his nose at the sounds. _'Imagination. You hit your head, you are in a tomb, and it is the beginning of Silentin. You are just imagining that whispering because of all this!'_ he tried to reason, but what happened next belied all that.

The wispy glow returned.

The torch had gone out. _'It went out in a blast of wind which should not have been there!'_ a small part of himself argued. _'You are sealed in a burial chamber, and wind extinguished your torch!'_

Fearfully, Aragorn raised his gaze to the light source. What he saw caused his heart to bounce and lodge itself snugly into his throat.

Right before his astonished eyes, the air - which had turned cloudy once more - glowed and pulsed. Aragorn did not know how it could do that. The cloud began to move around, parts of it gathering at one central point, other parts separating and inching off from that central point. A young man quickly began to take shape, standing before Aragorn with his arms folded across his chest as his form began to define and separate itself from the rest of the wispiness without ever actually leaving it. He stared unblinkingly back at the ranger, a - was it cruel? Aragorn was not sure - smile slowly forming on his face.

-0-0-0-0-

With a groan, Adin raised his head from the ground and placed a hand to his face. Thankfully, when he fell he had landed in the grass, so no serious harm other than a good knock to the head and a few bruises had come to the man. Adin pushed himself up, and noticed that he had landed mere inches from several sharp rocks. Gratitude flooded the farmer for a moment, before he remembered why he had even wound up on the ground in the first place.

Adin was swiftly on his feet, his gaze turned earnestly to the hill several yards away from him. His mouth dropped. His eyes widened. "H-how?" Adin glanced around; he was the only one on the open ground as far as he could see.

The middle-aged man took off running, reaching the sepulchre and placing his hands on the stone, pushing, pulling, and trying to get it to move. It was an impossible task, but Adin tried anyway, fear for his son and the ranger having spurred his actions. He tugged and tugged, pushed and shoved, but the heavy boulder that seemed to have moved back into place by itself was intent on staying just there.

"No... no... NO!" The farmer threw his hands against the stone.

Thoughts of how this all could have happened began to plague Adin's mind and suddenly he felt wary and even afraid. He spun around, the hair rising on the back of his neck, something icy tingling up his spine. He began to feel a phobia for that place; he felt odium toward every moment he was there. He hated the fear that began to rise in him, a fear connected somehow with something there in that place. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.

_'At least, not that you can see with your corporeal eyes.'_ Adin blinked. What? Where did that thought come from? It was in his voice, and yet something about it seemed like it was not his own comment on the situation. In spite of that, he could not help but dwell on the possibilities and truths behind that statement, just what was implied in all aspects of the comment. _'Not ... with your corporeal eyes'_? Adin vaguely recalled something an old man, who frequently passed through Tharbad when Adin was a lad, had said about seeing things with your physical eyes and seeing things with your spiritual eyes.

Adin let out a moan as his thoughts turned back to those old teachings and he realised he had begun to unconsciously consider what the old man said as being something more than the ramblings of an old man and just how that could all align and help him make sense of everything that had happened just then.

But putting truth in all of that would mean that he actually believed it. He didn't believe in all of that, did he?

Adin was not so sure any more just what he believed.

As he thought about it and searched himself in those few moments, he realised that somewhere deep in his heart, he believed that what the old man had said was true, what Daryn was saying was true - _'or at least, to some degree,'_ Adin thought. Ghosts and spirits were all very real. And they were all around.

All around.

_'Adin, you are going bonkers! Hit your head a little too hard, I should say.'_ Adin shook his head as he snapped back to reality with a snort. _'Ghosts and spirits being real and all around? Ha! How absurd._

_'Is it really that absurd? That old man didn't seem so deranged when he would speak of such things,'_ a small part of himself whispered.

_'I was young! I didn't know the difference between deranged people and none-deranged people._

_'But thinking back now as you know the difference, you can recall him. He was not off his rocker._

_'Things that are impressed upon someone in their youth taint their memories of those things._

_'Search yourself, Adin, you know what is true and what is not true. No one ever said the truth would be nice, good, or even make much sense. Truth can seem like the ramblings of the insane, but it is still the truth. Mayhap the insane are not quite as insane as the "sane" think they are. Maybe the "sane" are not quite on the right and true mark, maybe the insane are closer to the truth more than any one realises or wants to admits. Perhaps, when they speak of such truths, that is why we call them crazy; those truths are not ones we want to accept, we do not want to wrap our minds around such possibilities and consider for even a second that such a thing could be fact.'_

To that Adin had no comeback.

A flickering light caught his attention, and he turned to the East. The light had looked blue and glowy, but Adin tried to cast it off as a trick of the fading light, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, there was a warning in his heart.

Then he caught sight of something else in the same direction, around several bends and quite a ways away, Adin could see a reddish light flickering and disappearing then reappearing as he watched it. It was the light from the Hannen's bonfire, seen all this way away.

Adin breathed a sigh of relief. _'Just the bonfire and the fading light.'_ Still his heart whispered untranslatable warnings.

Another wispy, glowing bluish light grabbed at his attention, and he turned towards it. His eyes widened slightly, and then he rubbed them, and looked once more.

All around him, wisps of something or other moved in and out of visibility. Incomprehensible noises whispered around him, seemingly coming out of the earth itself; up from the dust, dancing lightly over the grasses, playing on the air around him.

His heart beat sped up as he looked at the ghostly apparitions threading through the air, visible here, gone there.

A chill and a fear rose up his spine, he felt like someone had drug icy cold hands through his very bones, chilling him. He felt like he had no warmth in his body, it all vanished in the fear that he felt when he saw the cloudy, threadlike ghoul phenomenoms around him.

**...To Be Continued...**


	3. Spiritual Warfare

**Summary:** "Tonight begins the Week of Silentin!" Week of Silentin, lock your doors and hide under your beds, pray that your ancestors did not kill someone that is now seeking revenge. Or else, you may just be in danger.  
**Author:** Raina  
**Beta:** Tira (sidhnanledhiel)  
**Rating:** Mature PG-13 (maybe R just to be safe)  
**Warning:** There is a lot of spiritual type content in this. Ghosts, spirits, things like that. This fic is not for the faint of heart, or the easily scared, believe me! I know at the beginning it does not seem that way, but you have not read the rest. :D  
**Characters:** Aragorn and a few OCs

**Author's Note:** I was inspired by a line from a book I read recently, Crime Scene Jerusalem by Alton Gansky, when I read the line a picture formed in my mind and it went from there. I at first had wanted this to be for the Halloween challenge Rhonda posted, but as the story developed, it wandered away from the qualifications Rhonda had for the challenge. Then I thought maybe this would be for Nina's birthday, which I missed anyway, but then I realised maybe this type of story might not be good for her health condition (I have been told by many others that the ending of the first chapter is creeping them out, and that is just the beginning of everything!).

**Silentin**

"I tell you the truth ... He has crossed over from death to life." (John 5:24)

"Whoever believes in me ... streams of living water will flow from within him." (John 9: 36)

--

**Chapter Three:**

"_Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." (John 20:29)_

"_With authority and power he gives orders to evil spirits and they obey him!" (Luke 4:36/Mark 1:27)_

Aragorn's mouth dropped open and moved slightly as he tried to say something, but no words came to him. Finally he managed a very fearful, "Who are you?"

The seemingly-young, ghost-man smiled enticingly. "Why do you fear me?" he asked, innocence decorating his wispy face. It was strange to look upon the man, to behold a face shrouded by a mist and yet somehow, despite seemingly consisting of the mist, it was also solid, fleshy. One moment the man seemed to be all but mist, the other he seemed to be standing behind a thin cloud, but nevertheless quite in the flesh on the other side.

It made Aragorn feel dizzy to think about how it changed from moment to moment, or maybe that was just the concussion acting up.

"Why?" the spectre prompted when Strider did not reply.

"I... I..." He knew why he feared the ghost; despite the entire situation, a discussion he had had with his family was lingering in his mind. When one encounters spirits and bogeys, it does not matter whether they are malicious or benign, one always feels fear. Spiritual encounters such as that simply do such a thing to one, Aragorn's older brother, Elladan, had told him. But Strider did not want to say that to the ghost, he did not wish to anger this spirit.

Besides, despite its outward appearance of being trustworthy, he felt wrong to the ranger.

"Do I look dangerous, like something worthy of fear, to you?" the spirit asked.

"No." There was something he could answer truthfully. The ghost did not look dangerous, so Strider shrugged the strange sense off as nothing more than the combined effects of his concussion, being in the dark, in a tomb with an unconscious child that had only mere hours ago been going on about ghosts haunting him; now he was facing one, and all of these things together must account for that feeling of wrongness.

"Come, then. No more fear, living one. Do not let my lack of life keep you and I from helping the other."

"How can you help me?" asked Aragorn cautiously; his face did not give away the thoughts stampeding through his mind, tumbling around far too fast for him to make much sense out of.

The apparition lifted a hand, a single finger upon it raised. "First, you must help me."

Alarm bells started clamouring at the statement; there was naught he could do though, except to heed the warning and tread forward carefully. "And that would be?" His caution was not lost on the spirit, for he shook his head slightly and smiled ruefully.

"Something rather simple and I promise no harm will come to you. I shall assist you in leaving this crypt if you help me."

At the prospect of leaving he felt cool relief flood his heart, and Aragorn's caution was cast to the wind. Before he could think more about it, the ranger quickly nodded his assent.

"Is that a promise?" Even as he asked, he stretched out his hands and stepped closer to the ranger and unconscious little boy.

Strider opened his mouth to affirm that it was a promise, but, for some reason unknown to him, his gaze dropped to the newcomer's hands. Around the fingertips, they were torn and raw looking as if the skin had been stripped away by something rough.

A deep fear chilled him to his core; it was so great and solid that every second he was there he hated with every fibre of his being.

"NO!" The phantasm seemed taken aback by his sudden outburst. "You stay away from me!" The ranger had suddenly realised what this ghost had been up to and who exactly he used to be. "And do not come any closer to the boy."

Without warning, the ghost began to laugh quietly in malice. "You think you can stop me from getting my revenge, living one?" A twisted grin turned his lips. He didn't look so friendly any more.

Aragorn's breathing sped up as his fear threatened to over-power him. _'After all,'_ his fearful side spoke up, _'what can you do against a dead spirit? It is not like you can kill it! It has no form; you cannot fight it and keep it away from Daryn.'_

"Yes, that is right..." the bogey nodded at him. "You cannot stop me, you cannot touch me. I have no physical form that you can touch."

Strider could only wonder how the ghost-man was able to read his thoughts, but it was a trifling confusion and was not something he paid much attention to. There was a greater thought stirring in his mind. If he could not touch the ghost, then maybe the spirit could not --

"Yes, I can touch you."

In the corners of his mind, he was still in shock at the mind-reading this bogey was doing.

The spirit smiled maliciously, but did not seem in a very enlightening mood. "Ranger, you will give the child over to me." It was not a request, and the veiled threats were not lost to the young Dunedian.

"And if I say no?" Aragorn pulled himself closer to the boy, his head deciding to go for a short whirl made it hard for him to think. His question was not a bold one, but birthed from curiosity and a desire to know everything about the situation that he could.

"Look at you," the phantom shook his head as he spoke the words. "You are in no position to say no. You are afraid, I can sense it. If you do not let the child go, I will take him from you with force."

"You did not answer the question." Without realising it, Aragorn was trying to buy himself more time.

"I do not have to answer your questions," the dead man snapped. "But if you wish to know, I will show you!"

Aragorn felt a sharp pain erupt in his side and he stifled a surprised cry. He placed a hand to the area of distress as the pain numbed to several long stripes of a cold burning sensation on his abdomen. He suppressed a moan as his head revolved from the sudden hurt.

The daemon smiled malevolently. "You see, ranger, there is nothing you can do to stop me; there is nothing you can do to protect yourself from my higher power. I will have my revenge upon your friends soon enough, for you cannot protect the boy forever and his father lingers near."

Aragorn's eyes widened as he thought about it. With Adin outside, there was no way he could offer his protection, however small that was. He had to get Adin away from here. "ADIN, RUN! GET OUT OF HERE! YOU ARE NOT SAFE!" Strider paused for a breath before continuing, "TRUST ME AND JUST GET AWAY FROM HERE!!"

The revenge-seeker sneered at the man as he finished shouting. "You think Adin can escape? There is no where he can go that I cannot reach him. I will have my revenge upon this farmer."

"You only have a week, and you have to go through me first to get to Adin and his family."

"You cannot keep me from them, for already your strength is weakening. How are you going to stop me from taking him?"

He had to honestly admit that he had no clue how he, a living man, could stop a daemon from hurting the boy. Aragorn had no defence that he knew of against a spectre.

The ghost smiled knowingly as if Strider's thought showed up on his face.

"Nevertheless, you will not harm this family." Aragorn was surprised at the strength, determination, and boldness in his own voice.

"Then I will make you suffer for your intervention. You will endure the agony extracted from envious spirits." The bogey's eyes glinted with a certain twisted glee.

For a moment the mist in the room took on shapes, but then they disappeared and Aragorn had to wonder if they had been there at all. As Strider's belief in spirits of the dead wavered the mist took shape and then blended into nothing specific once more. Here before him was a phantasm, and he knew this was no dream for the pain was too vivid and fierce; his faith sparked and grew and he knew for certain that ghosts were indeed real.

As this realisation sunk in, the mist formed shapes of people and they stayed there. No more wavering - Aragorn found it to be eerie. He knew now why he had not felt alone and the whispering he had heard rushing by him. There had been spirits in this room the whole time. They had been taunting him long before he could see them.

What spooked him the most was that some particularly nasty ones lingered nearest to him. Somehow he just knew that they were the ones shrieking at him earlier. He doubted it would be the last time he had that sensation.

The bogeys nearest to him sneered and shifted closer, malice and jealousy glinting in their ghostly eyes. As he pushed his fear away from his tunnelling consciousness, Aragorn sent a wary glance around the room wondering just what he was up against.

There were other ghosts in the shadows, but they never moved. Two older, weather-worn men were crouched in one corner, their eyes staring straight back at Aragorn. A sad, young girl - Strider judged her to be about ten - looked sullenly at him from a small nook near the inner chamber door opening. Her sad countenance held a hint of anger that Aragorn wondered over whether or not it was directed at him.

In the doorway leading to the inner chamber, a tall man leaned against the door passage edge. Strider could not make out his face, or really anything about him, for he remained nothing but a shaped shadow.

Then his eyes met the stare of a middle-aged woman, who seemed wise even in death. Her dark, smooth skin and wise, ancient-looking eyes gave Aragorn a feeling of trust. Knowledge began to fill his head as he watched her.

_The ones that he sensed evil from were jealous of the life that he and Daryn still held; they envied anyone still living and, while they had the Week of Silentin, they would not make the living world a restful one, though they could not disturb any other than those that were related to them, or connected to them directly from their lives, and any who intervened._

_Some of the other spirits that lingered in the corners and shadows in the room were there because the unrest the evil ghost-man before Aragorn, Azazel, had spread had drawn them back to their resting place in the physical world. They stood indifferent on this subject, but could not leave till the matter was resolved._

Why then did they not just leave the Circles of this World?

_Even in death, they are not yet at peace. They stay to come to terms with their deaths before they can move onto a resting place beyond the Circles of the World._

Something told the ranger he would get no help from anyone here. He almost despaired - for what was he against such spiritual forces?

In the time it took for him to survey the room and that information about the spirits to suddenly be in his mind, only a bare minute had passed; it seemed that was the only time he was allowed, for the daemons suddenly fell upon him, unleashing their terrible powers.

The ranger felt the explosion of sharp pain across his chest, and then they numbed to the cold burning sensation that still distressed his lower abdomen where he had first had a taste of the bogey's power.

Aragorn's eyes turned to a scary-looking woman's face, her fingers were raised in a clawing motion and Strider realised that she must have been the spirit to attack him both times. The revenge-seeker had not even touched him and Aragorn slightly wondered why Azazel - as he had just learned - had left some other spirit to do his dirty work.

But the information came back to him about how these bogeys sought to make the living world a painful place. They wanted to make him be in agony just as much, if not more so than, Azazel, who stood watching the proceedings with delight.

The woman laughed and laid another icy, burning tear across his ribs as she drug her mist fingers across him. Before Aragorn could comprehend what was all going on, he found himself lost into a strange, agonizing world.

The screaming voices rushing past his ears returned and it only stopped for mere moments when a heavy weight would come upon his chest making it hard for him to breath. The weight would lift and the screaming would come rushing at him and past his ears. The process was never-ending; it made Aragorn's heart race uncontrollably.

It was demonic: the screaming, the weight, and the coldly burning sensations. His head began to spin badly. His despair filled him. Strider's world had become nothing but ceaseless screaming and pain.

Unpleasant, distressing thoughts filled what little bit of his consciousness that was not a tunnel of swirling pain and shrieking voices. Aragorn believed them.

This was it. There was nothing else to life. Pain - both our own and others - was an endless body of water that filled the world; there was nothing else but those swirling depths.

Aragorn struggled, but quickly lost his fight to get away from those dragging waves, and he began to believe that there was nothing beautiful in this world. No peace, no beauty, no good things. Everything began to take on shades of gray as the pain, shrieking, and the weight upon his chest continued to cycle on and on.

As he began to give up and Azazel started to laugh at his resignation, a faint and vague picture rose in his mind, but it was squandered from an outside source.

"No..." Aragorn weakly denied the despairing thoughts in his mind. As he fought against them, holding onto that faded image, he began to realise that that voice inside his head that was speaking of those dark thoughts was not his own.

Somehow, between the knowledge of it not being his own voice - though it sounded so much like his own - and that image, he pried the dejected thoughts from his tired and pain-filled mind.

'_All things are dark, there is no beauty.'_ A soft, seducing voice spoke inside of his head. Despite that inside his heart he wished to fight, Aragorn could still feel that voice draw him toward it.

In a desperate act of freedom, Aragorn opened his mouth to shout out his inwardly felt defiance. "Annui Fien!" His eruption caused the onslaught to retreat slightly. Aragorn glared coldly at them. "There is more than just darkness. There is life and light." The spirits began to snarl at him. The image returned to Strider's mind again, this time vivid and strong. With all of his being, he wished that he could hurl the image at them as testimony of what he spoke of.

As if his wish had become reality and he had struck them with the image, the ghosts flinched back from him. With deeply felt relief, Aragorn began to visualize everything he knew that he cherished. Slowly he felt a great cloud lift from his mind; things began - mentally - to seem brighter and less shrouded.

Several of the ghosts flinched and snarled at him, but kept their distance for a few moments. However, despite that he fought them mentally with every scrap of beautiful memories he possessed, the spirits came back with their own retaliations: the screaming and rushing, and heavy weight on his chest: all returned with a vengeance. Burning cold fingers laced across his skin, dragging their cold fire over his body.

His vocal chords worked of their own will and he moaned despite the fight he put up. Naturally his body would betray him, yet that would not stop him from fighting back with all of the life and light he could muster.

For time unknown Strider fought, in the only way he could, spiritually against the bogeys. Somehow, he was able to keep them at bay, keep them from overpowering him completely - though he moaned and he groaned at the abuse they gave to his body, Aragorn continued to do the only thing he could.

At times, the ranger found it most annoying that the ghosts had the power to somehow cross from the spiritual dimension to cause pain to him in a physical sense, but he was left with his hands going right through them if he tried to push them away.

At first Aragorn made the critical mistake of letting some of his focus slip and Azazel held none of the ranger's attention. Strider had not realised, so focused on the other spirits was he, that he had to hold them back practically individually.

Azazel drew nearer to Daryn, who had remained oblivious to the world through all that had happened thus far. Azazel had nearly reached his target when Aragorn noticed his plight and cried out against him. Azazel found himself being blocked by a spiritual force as Aragorn extended his spiritual protection, creating a barrier of sorts, but that did not mean Azazel was giving up. With a steely gaze directed toward the ranger, who had only stood in Azazel's way since he had first arrived, the ghost withdrew slightly.

At last, Strider felt a strange sensation, that almost felt like a breeze was blowing through his mind. For a moment he saw - in his mind's eye - a beautiful, peaceful meadow, with a feeling of love, safety, hope, and all things good radiating from it; a pleasant smell he seemed to smell. Then he blinked. His mind was jerked back to his bleak reality. Only it suddenly wasn't so bleak.

A light seemed to shine all around, yet it was only shining in one place - Aragorn could not explain it. In a corner of his mind, that meadow and pleasant smell remained, but Strider held a stronger connection to reality than he had when he first felt that breeze blowing through his mind.

Aragorn still fought against the spiritual beings, and yet somehow it was not quite as overwhelming and stressful. Some of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders - in a manner of speaking - but he still had spiritual warfare he was doing.

"Because you have stood your ground, you will see My salvation." The voice seemed to be all around Strider, but stayed in his mind. It confused the ranger to try and figure out how these things could seemingly be all around and yet just in one area and nowhere else.

The next moment, thoughts of this confusion were cast aside. Aragorn's spiritual eyes were opened even more. He saw that he was not alone in the fight for good. Nearby, scattered at random places around the sepulchre, a host of pure beings stood. They seemed to shine, but did not. Wisdom and grace were upon their brows, strength was in their fists, and power was theirs to command. Yet, Aragorn could sense a feeling of humbleness, a readiness to defend the common man.

They stood, swords at their sides, and girthed about in white robed armour, their forms alight with the light of Goodliness.

In an instant, Aragorn knew he was not to be fighting alone any more. This spiritual battle was not to be warred solitarily from then on; however, he still needed to fight. These beings were not there to protect him from these bogeys, but they were there to help him fight them.

Strider sensed, more than saw, the beings that had withdrawn from him the moment his battle had begun. In a wave of unexplained knowledge, he knew them to be guardians. They were spiritual guardians, there as wardens for all things physical, but not there for protection against spiritual.

The ranger's gaze lifted to the beings that were now preparing to fight back some of his enemies and he understood. These were the ones to help him in his spiritual warfare, but they would not do all of the work themselves.

It was something almost unexplainable, but Aragorn did not care to try and sort it out and force it to make sense rationally.

"Unggmmm...Strider..." a distressed moan from beside Aragorn drew his physical attention. The ranger turned to the boy, relieved that he had finally awoken. "Strider?!"

"I am right here." Aragorn tried to soothe the frightened child.

"Where?"

Daryn reached out a hand and Strider took it, saying gently, "Here."

Suddenly the lad stiffened, and in the dim light Aragorn could see him look around the room. "Are we in the sepulchre? I cannot see anything." Daryn whispered.

The ranger shifted closer to the boy, ignoring the vertigo his head saw fit to gift him with. It was getting harder and harder to focus on everything that was going on, but somehow Aragorn managed to still stay attentive of the ghosts and fighting them back, deal with his swimming head, and give the young child his attention.

"Daryn, what do you mean? There is light in here." Strider softly told the boy. "There is not a lot of light, but enough that once my eyes adjusted, I can dimly see you."

"I cannot see anything!" Daryn sobbed quietly.

"Shh, shh." Aragorn pulled the boy to him and wrapped his arms around the lad's shoulders.

"My head hurts, Strider... and moving makes me feel sick," the boy whimpered.

"Nausea?" Aragorn knew the boy would have it, but for a moment he had become distracted once more by the ghosts and had asked the rather - in his opinion - stupid question.

"Yes... and dizziness." Daryn felt so terrible he just wanted to curl up into a corner and cry. "Not to mention...how terrible...it is not...to be able to see..." the boy whispered dejectedly.

Strider's thoughts were flying through everything he knew, and there was no doubt in his mind that the hard knock the boy had gotten when he was thrown to the ground had bruised his brain so much that it had caused Daryn to be blind. Strider could only hope that with the proper treatment, and time, the boy's eyesight would return.

"Daryn...," the ranger began hesitantly, unsure of how the youth would take the news. "From what you have told me, I have deduced that when you fell and hit your head on the stone floor, you bruised your brain badly." Aragorn tried to put the information into words that Daryn would understand and not go into medical talk which the simple, country boy was surely not going to comprehend. "When that happens, you can lose your eyesight."

The lad became very quiet. Finally he whispered, "Will I always be blind, Strider?"

The man stifled a sigh. "I do not know for certain, Daryn." Suddenly, the ranger gasped in pain. It was something hard to give the boy his attention and at the same time keep a firm spiritual covering. At the sudden explosion of pain in his thigh, Aragorn's head went for a fast-paced, rough whirl.

"Strider?" the lad beside him asked in fear. Unexpectedly, Daryn straightened up a little and shifted further into Aragorn's side, despite the nausea and vertigo his movements caused. "I can see them... I mean... I cannot really see anything, Strider. I cannot see you or the walls or the floor, but somehow I can see the ghosts..." the child was whispering so quietly that it was hard for Aragorn to hear him, but the youth's hushed words held the ranger's attention.

Strider nodded his understanding, but had no response to the boy's declaration - he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to respond. Weariness was tugging at him and Aragorn could feel the call of the bliss of unconsciousness, but refused to let it take hold just yet.

Aragorn's head was beginning to reel once more as his weariness grew stronger; finally the ranger had to shift the boy in his arms and scoot back against the wall. The movement sent his head spinning faster and his world threatened to black out, but in the end Strider managed it.

Daryn groaned at being moved, and Aragorn had to remind himself that the lad was a lot worse off than him.

Leaning back against the wall, the man tried his best to ignore the spiritual battle going on around him without ever actually stopping his own fight.

'_No one here to guide you,  
__Now you're on your own.  
__Only me beside you.  
__Still, you're not alone.  
__No one is alone. Truly,  
__No one is alone._

_Sometimes people leave you,  
__Halfway through the wood.  
__Others may deceive you.  
__You decide what's good.  
__You decide alone.  
__But no one is alone.'_

Aragorn softly sang, letting the words and melody hang in the air, trying to fill the heavy silence that dragged at their hearts and spirits. As he was slowly succumbing to the world of sleep, Strider tried to sing a tune that would help them relax, no matter its content.

'_People make mistakes.  
__Fathers,  
__Mothers,  
__People make mistakes,  
__Holding to their own,  
__Thinking they're alone.  
__Honour their mistakes  
__Everybody makes  
__One another's terrible mistakes.'_

His voice began to get softer and softer as Aragorn's consciousness dwindled.

'_Just remember  
__Someone is on your side  
__Someone else is not.  
__While you're sleeping on your side  
__Maybe you forgot: they are not alone.  
__No one is alone.  
__  
Hard to see the light now.  
__Just don't let it go  
__Things will come out right now.  
__We can make it so._

_Someone is on your side,  
__No one is alone.'_

By the time the last words dissolved in the air, Aragorn had lost his grip on reality and began to tread the land of sleep, but rest was not something that he really acquired in his slumbering state. All throughout his repose, Strider had some of the strangest dreams - if dreams they really were.

Wispy shapes - almost firey with how they wavered and jarred and streamed out at the ends - morphed out of the darkness of his sleep. He stood in a place full of fighting, a war against darkness that he couldn't really quite understand, but knew he had to continue battling, was taking place.

At one point, Aragorn seemed to be looking through a tunnel into this strange world and saw himself - somehow he just knew it was himself - in the fray, battling back the unclean spirits.

-0-0-0-0-

Idly, Trish snacked on a light and fluffy, honey-based candy flavoured and thickened with the sap from the marsh mallow plant. Its sweetness filled her mouth as she distractedly fed small pieces to her daughter and stared off into the fire. Her thoughts were occupied with a feeling of foreboding creeping through her senses. Trish could not explain it, but she felt as if there was something wrong, somewhere.

The matronly woman's thoughts turned toward her family and the stranger, Strider, wondering where they were and how they were faring. It was getting on towards two hours since the three had gone off to the sepulchre. They had yet to return. What got to Trish so much as that she didn't think it should have taken so long to just figure out what had spooked Daryn and then come back... did it?

The warm light from the bonfire lit smiling faces and the activities taking place around it. There was music being played, and some people were dancing crazy jigs, some were holding discourse, but all around there was contentment and eating and drinking. It was not until hollering reached the ears of those attending the Hannen's bonfire that the joviality dimmed somewhat.

Trish jumped to her feet when she recognised her husband's voice and, placing Aideen on the ground beside a friend, she hurried toward where it was coming from. Soon, out of the growing shadows, the man appeared, looking quite out of breath and more than a little shook up.

"Adin," Trish began, worried. "What is the matter?"

"It's Daryn and Strider, Trish," Adin started, breathless. He locked gazes with his wife, knowing she, more than anyone else, would know what he meant. "Trish, something terribly wrong is at work. They're in danger."

"Where are they?" Trish asked, wide-eyed. Aideen had made her way over to her parents and, though young, had sensed her parents' distress. Tugging at her mother's clothes, the little girl begged to be picked up.

"In the sepulchre," Adin dropped his voice low, knowing that they had the attention of everyone there. "Trish, I know you won't believe me, but there are spirits there..."

Trish's glance turned sharp at her husband's words, surprised that he would speak of such things. "Adin," she began, as she bent down to pick up her daughter.

"No, Trish. Please, just listen to me. Strider, he said--"

"What is wrong, Adin?" Mr. Hannen had trailed Trish, concern for his friend showing clearly on the older man's face.

Adin glanced up at the other man, trying to decide what to tell them and not appear crazy. "Daryn is trapped in our sepulchre."

"Trapped?" the older farmer looked thoroughly confused.

Adin nodded; he began to explain what had happened.

"Say, Adin, what's this you mean?" A hunter, by the name of Wesh, spoke out.

"I need help getting them out of the sepulchre. The stone was moved back into place in front of the door, trapping them inside."

"Adin," Wesh started. "Honestly, are you trying to convince us that the stone just magically moved of its own accord?" With a disgusted shake of his head, the hunter turned away.

Adin sighed, and spoke, halting Wesh's movements, "There are greater forces, evil forces, at work." Sceptical expressions met his statement. "I understand some of you do not believe in spirits, but if you ever trusted me, please trust me now. I need your help."

Matthias Hannen glanced between the three. "Very well, Adin. I trust you, and I hope I do not find that trust to be mislaid. I am certain there must be a logical explanation for all of this and I hope you give us one. This had better be no trick."

The younger farmer shook his head, sagging slightly with relief.

--

No one wanted to admit that despite their words earlier to Adin, there was something strangely eerie as they approached the above-ground tomb. In the light of day it could be slightly unnerving to enter a tomb, a house of the dead, but in the dead of night - _during_ _Silentin?_ None of the adults would readily say it, but they were more than just a little unnerved as they strode towards the sepulchre on the first night of Silentin.

"Something strange is at work in this place," Matthias Hannen commented, his gaze far-off and his tone deep. "A spiritual stirring like nothing I have run afoul of before in my long life."

"Matthias, that is because of..." Adin trailed off. He knew what the other felt, but was unsure how everyone would take it. "There_ is_ a stirring, unrest growing amidst those that _should_ be at peace."

"They should be beyond the Circles of this World, you mean...?" The older farmer glanced up at the sepulchre as they drew nigh unto it. "If there truly is ghosts a'hauntin' this place, I have to wonder why the spirits of those deceased have not travelled to their final resting place, far beyond this world."

"Are you saying you honestly believe in ghosts?" Wesh asked, a frown creasing his brow.

"I am saying that it is not at all impossible, Mr. Tenar," Matthias spoke cryptically. "There are many things unknown to us in this world, and a whole different plain, a spiritual one, inhabited with more things than we could ever possibly know."

Wesh fell quiet, contemplating the words of the old farmer, whom was well-respected and one of the wisest people this side of Tharbad.

"Matthias, I thought you didn't fully believe me about the ghosts... I thought you said there would be a 'reasonable explanation' for all that has transpired..." commented Adin, trying to understand the change he seemed to see in his older friend.

"And so there must be... just because something is of a spiritual nature does not mean it is unreasonable."

"But... what about... you seemed so cryptic when I said that there were ghosts playing tricks."

"That is because I do not see any reason for there to _be_ ghost activity here or even surrounding you and your family." Matthias glanced off into the horizon, his face growing distant. "Usually, there is something much more... grandeur, more complicated than your simple life, that ghosts haunt." He shook his head. "It is all too involved and much too long a tale for me to tell and explain everything." The old man lay a hand on the stone covering the tomb doorway. "But come, you said there are people in need of help beyond this stone, let us see if we can be of assistance."

-0-0-0-0-

Strider wandered in and out of sleep, but he was never really conscious. His spirit was burdened, tired, but there seemed no rest for him, and as the man awoke he, at first, could not tell why. He felt the stirrings of his spirit, the distress and constant battle, but it took a few minutes for his head to clear.

When it did, Aragorn could not honestly say whether he was really awake or still dreaming. He sat in the corner of the room, but he was having an out-of-body experience. The ranger could see a strange thing, himself as it were, but with an ethereal beauty about his spirit that shocked him. What felt the creepiest, though, was sitting there on the ground, feeling the cold stone, his stiff limbs, the boy beside him, the breathing of them both, but he also saw things through his spiritual eyes, felt things through his spiritual body.

The darkness was overwhelming at times. Strider was quickly tiring. Being awake and aware while having an out-of-body experience was not assisting matters in the least. He pressed on, but his resolve was wavering. He needed a relief, a desperately desired reprieve from everything.

This whole experience was all very new to Aragorn, but over time he would grow stronger in spirit, and these spiritual battles would not be so hard to handle.

When the man felt his hope of release dimming, something shattered the darkness around him. Another light entered his world, this one similar to his own (that was quickly fading), that led him to assume that the newcomer was not at all like the shining, glorious beings he had seen join him at the start of this silent battle.

The being strode calmly into the room. Strider felt the wearying press of everything ease from him some, and the man blinked his eyes several times.

"Strider, Daryn!" A somewhat distant and strangely familiar voice spoke. It took a little bit, but Aragorn's conscious attention finally returned to the world of the voice's owner.

Adin knelt in concern beside Strider, a hand reaching out to touch his sleeping child. The ranger had not reacted and that did concern Adin, but the father in him was vying for his attention span and Daryn was first in his mind.

"Father...?" Daryn shifted and blinked his eyes open, though it did the child little good.

"I'm here, Daryn, finally." Adin assured, stroking the boy's hair. He moved to take his son into his arms.

"Be careful," Strider warned, startling the two who had not realised he had 'awoken.' "He's suffered a head injury. Jostling him around too much will only aggravate it."

"I cannot see you, father," Daryn whispered dejectedly. Adin glanced in slight confusion at Strider, though the youth could not see it. "Strider says my eyesight may return with time, but..."

The disheartened tone of his son made Adin's heart ache, and he gently, heedful of Strider's words, pulled his son close. Tears sprung into his eyes as he stroked his dear child's dark hair.

Strider smiled sadly at the family, and then his gaze travelled to someone behind Adin. There were several people in the doorway, but there was one person standing in the middle of the room that caught his attention. His presence felt familiar, and though it took Aragorn awhile, he realised with a start this was the newcomer he had seen on the spiritual plain. He also realised that it was because of this man that he was not still walking in the land of spirits; his burden had been eased by this man taking his place and forcing him to return into the physical plain.

Matthias turned around and caught Strider's gaze, offering the younger man a smile.

Strider returned the smile as several people filled the room, helping Adin to get the two of them out. The ranger doubted that these people fully understood the spiritual activity going on around them, though they felt that tension.

As they were ushered from the tomb, the cool night air rushed towards Strider and Daryn. The two paused for a moment, taking in the feel of life stirring around them.

Matthias lay a hand on Strider's shoulder and they exchanged glances, the ranger instantly understanding the other man. Matthias and he would talk later, but for now Strider's spirit could have a small reprieve.

There was something more Aragorn understood: in the days to come, he would still have a battle to fight. For not until the Week of Silentin had passed could he truly find rest and not be bothered so intensely by jealous and malicious spirits. He was not giving up though; his resolve was strong to protect those placed within his care. He had taken up the mantle of protecting this family that was not quite as in tune with the spiritual plain as his purpose seemed to be structured for.

**The End**

**A/N:**

The song Aragorn sings in this chapter was not written by me, but in fact by Victor Garber. The song's name is 'No One Is Alone', and I did change a few of the words around to make it fit better. Copyright infringement, naturally, was not intended.


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